Sweaters
by LosingTheTaste
Summary: "I've missed you," you can barely speak around the relief and affection that has lodged itself inside your throat. "Me too," she replies. Though you're not sure if she means she missed you or if she missed herself. Maybe- probably, both.- - - - it wasn't really about the sweaters, but it's sort of the best place to start.


There are times when you miss the days before.

She was a little shrill.

You were more than a little insecure.

It wasn't really about the sweaters. Hideous, ugly sweaters with owls, ponies, and various other animals printed on them that most of your peers outgrew by age seven. It wasn't ever about the sweaters- though that's the first thing you noticed about her. They then turned into solid colors. Sometimes striped sweaters. Sometimes argyle. Matching sweater and skirt combinations that screamed for attention but never the right kind. They grabbed _**your**_ attention and unearthed everything.

The insults were easy back then. She didn't do herself any favors.

And in the jungle: survival of the fittest. After months of training, dieting, starving, and barely surviving military style workouts by the cheerleading coach from Hell- you knew you were the fittest. You had to be.

There was a time when you were the weak. There was a time when you were pushed into lockers. There was a time when they called you fat. They called you ugly. They told you that you were worthless. There was a time when you believed them. A part of you always will.

Her confidence grew day by day, year by year despite any insult you threw her way. She belonged on the stage. She thrived in the spotlight. It didn't take long for people to notice. When they noticed, they took care. They began prodding and molding- changing-_** fixing**_ what didn't need fixed.

They helped shape her wardrobe. The matching sets were oddly adorable instead of atrocious. Pantsuits only seen on a grandmother were long gone. Headbands disappeared. Knee sock became something entirely different- morphing into a strange fantasy that left a pit in your stomach and an ache much lower.

She grew.

Someone so small seemed to tower in stature overnight. With her hand in his, she lost a piece of herself but gained something more. She became a force to be reckoned with. Her short temper and flare for dramatics became endearing- not just to you. Everyone started noticing. They each put their stamp on her, each left their mark. Her confidence changed to believing her beauty when they told her it was true- instead of inherently knowing she was worth everything. She believed it but needed to hear it from them.

She had friends. She had confidence. She started to believe what you always knew- she was beautiful being comfortable in her own skin…as long they approved of the skin she was in.

Your skin crawled.

Secrets and lies teemed beneath the surface. One by one, they were exposed. Each taking a small piece of yourself with them. You were stripped of your home. Then stripped of your daughter. Stripped of love. Stripped of confidence. Stripped of the image that was really all you had left.

Pink hair happened.

You self-destructed in every way you could. It nearly cost your life. Yours for hers. She had a future you couldn't bare to watch her throw away on a guy who built her up but simultaneously tore her down. He was good for her in a lot of ways but changed everything about who she had been.

She was happy with herself. But she wasn't actually being herself. Each step she took to a new self-image brought her up into a being unrecognizable. While each twist and turn thrown your way stripped back layers exposing the girl you had never truly gotten away from: miserable but smart. Lonely but never alone. Suddenly beautiful but always insecure.

Your mask so firmly in place the lines between the lie and the truth often blurred until there was nothing left but to pick up the pieces and try to make sense of it all.

When you had nothing, she seemed to have everything. That was the moment you finally saw all that she had lost.

She could step in and save the day with a Barbra Streisand classic only a select few could ever really pull off. She had talent. She had wit. She had intelligence- that you gained from books and she gained from life. She had everything.

Until she didn't.

It took you so long to notice.

You first noticed her humor was gone. Year by year it slipped away.

You miss her humor. It was never intentional. Small barbs taken at the talent of others. Her need to please and be loved…it was exactly like yours. Your perceived flaws. Somehow hers came off as amusing. She was likeable. Part of you wanted to be her- to have that future, to have that power to inspire others, to have that gift to make them love her.

New York changed her. Finn changed her. She got her dreams but lost herself. Part of you hates her now. Part of you hates that she's tolerable. Part of you hates that she'd give anything for a friend. She shouldn't compromise herself for them.

She lost her spark. Not on the stage, she could still stop anyone in their tracks with her voice, her soul poured out in song. But in life she dimmed, she became a side character in a show that should be shaped around her: her own life.

You stood back and watched her fade in her own shadow. Gloriously illuminating every stage, every sung word…but melting into the background in her own relationships.

Part of you hated her once. Part of you still does.

You hated her because you believed in her. You hated her because you loved her.

You still do. Believe. Hate. Love.

Only, now you don't recognize her.

Loss takes it toll on everyone. Losing him forever- beyond repair. It wasn't the beginning of end but more like the final nail in the coffin. His or hers? Who can really say? Though he rests in his and she walks around locked in hers.

She was gone before then. She was gone the moment she let them change her. She wasn't quirky. She got a makeover and became something else entirely. Growing up doesn't- or shouldn't- mean you forget who you had been. She did. She forgot it all. Not the other people. She didn't forget who she had been to them, for them. She forgot who she was for herself.

Only from the far shadows where you watched, miles away- piecing it all from the stories of others, emails, rushed phone calls. Only in the far shadows where she had forgotten you, that's where you could see how lost she had become- has become.

Yale isn't on another planet but you were left out of her show. Part of you was glad because- why would you want to be in a show that she wasn't truly a part of? You had self-destructed enough to recognize the signs when others ignored them. You recognized her self destruction.

You didn't want to be a part of this farce- pretending this version, this episode, this season of her life was the girl she was meant to be.

Santana became the snarky voice. She became the voice of reason. She was the mean girl with a heart of gold who became her best friend. She took your role and she ran with it adding in her own dramatics and her own issues. She was probably far more interesting than you could ever be. Your closet case identity crisis would have been too sad- too real. Santana took it all in stride and supported her where you would've crumbled in lovesick ruin.

You used to have snappy comebacks. You used to have a cold exterior to mask all of the hurt underneath. You used to have a push and pull with her. Like magnets, gravitating toward each other in your weakest moments and secretly praising each other in your best. You let yourself get pushed to the side. It was easier than watching her waste away right next to her. Being so close to touch her but never quite connecting. Like reaching out to grab her hand but watching it turn to dust just as your fingertips brushed the air that used to be her soul.

You wish you never gave her Prom Queen.

You gave her your identity in the hope that she would realize she never needed it…instead she basked in it…with him. She gained that strange confidence that tore down her real esteem.

You swayed in the background.

She let guy after guy define her in ways that you were all too familiar with. She let the push of dance teachers and difficult professors shape her instead of fighting back. In all the years you knew her, Mr. Shuester could never quite get her to shut up. In New York, she never quite fought enough.

She still overcame. She still bested them. It wasn't by sheer will. It was just because she was THAT good.

You missed when she didn't know it. When she knew how good she could be and fought to get there. When she knew she was better than all of you but still not good enough for herself.

She was shrill. And annoying. And honest to a fault. And overbearing. And lovable but sometimes pathetic.

You fell in love with it all.

You were cruel. You were hurting. You were soft underneath the ice.

You should have found each other and in turn found yourselves.

Instead, you both withered away. Bit by bit. You gave up first. You know you did. She gave up slowly.

You don't recognize her anymore. You're not sure you'd want to.

There are times when you miss the days before…

But looking back only stops you from looking forward.

Maybe you can't change what she has become….

But maybe you can change what she will become next.

It starts with a gift. One that you're sure she finds ironic- or sarcastic- or maybe a little cruel.

But that's where you started. You were cruel and she was shrill.

Her shriek of indignation upon opening it gives you hope. It's almost there. Almost piercingly shrill…but not quite.

2017. You're both older. You haven't truly spoken for three years.

You give her a sweater with a bulldog on it. There's a matching red skirt underneath with knee socks and penny loafers. The perfect gift for the first night of her triumphant return to Broadway after winning a Tony award.

She's horrified.

Actually, she's a cocktail of mixed emotions- anger, amusement, terror, excitement.

It's the last emotion that let's the hope in your chest flutter with the skipping beats of your heart.

_ You noticed. You missed her. _

She smiles and pulls the sweater over her head with a giggle.

When she beams at you- sweater intact- you're sure you weren't the only one who missed her.

"Is there a headband in here too?" her musical laugher rings out in perfect pitch just like every note of her Broadway show you sat through for the sixth time (thought this is the first she knows of).

The sound of her laughter warms your heart and sends tingles throughout your entire being.

"I thought of this as a starter kit. The headband is step two. That was one is entirely up to you. It looks good on you though," you grin.

She nods with a blush and takes a tentative step closer. You inhale quickly and try to cover up your nervous, shaking hands by wringing them together and chuckling.

"Thank you."

It is so sincere. Your eyes prick with tears.

Her eyes well in response.

"I'm going to hug you now," she laughs with a small choke of emotion.

You nod just as her arms encompass you in the best warmth you've felt in years.

"I love it. Really and truly. Thank you," she whispers.

"I've missed you," you can barely speak around the relief and affection that has lodged itself in your throat.

"Me too."

You're not sure if she means she missed you or if she missed herself. Maybe, probably- both.

It will take years until you're both back to where you once were. You'll have moments when you're so insecure that you're unforgivably cruel. You'll beg her for forgiveness anyway and in a new twist of fate and renewed self-confidence, she'll make you work for it. You will though. You'll work for the rest of your life. In return, she'll have moments when she is an uptight diva. She'll annoy you. She'll grate on your every nerve. She'll storm off in a fit and become unbearably shrill. You'll love her for it. You'll treasure her for it.

You know it's all of the little things that make up the girl and you can't wait to discover them again- together.

It wasn't really about the sweaters…but that's sort of the best place to start.


End file.
